


because of you, i believe in angels

by angelkat



Category: Puss in Boots (2011), The Adventures of Puss in Boots (Cartoon)
Genre: (last time), Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Moral Ambiguity, Pledge 2019, Romance, Sweet Ginger, Tragedy, canon-compliant promiscuity, divergent from canon ending, empathic environment - Freeform, gratuitous angst, minor series + movie crossover, please read the tags, post-season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkat/pseuds/angelkat
Summary: Tonight, they dance their last.
Relationships: Puss in Boots/Dulcinea
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	because of you, i believe in angels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ezekiel0601](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezekiel0601/gifts).



> This is my Pledge 2019. Now you’re not the only one with background experience in smut-writing. 
> 
> Recommended listening: Ludovico Einaudi’s Experience (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VONMkKkdf4)

_All because of you, I haven’t slept in so long._ _  
_ _When I do, I dream of drowning in the ocean,_ _  
_ _longing for the shore where I can lay my head down_ _  
_ _inside these arms of yours._

* * *

_‘As you know…I’m a tulpa.’_

The crest of the small hill of golden coinage and other miscellaneous junk was flat where Puss in Boots was seated.

His elbows were perched upon his drawn apart knees, his chin resting on steepled paws. He toyed with the folded piece of parchment between his fingers, running an index against its side or turning it over repeatedly again and again and _again_ in a quickly failing attempt to curb his nerves.

He felt no less restless with time. His green eyes, feline and emerald, glowed in stark contrast to the sombre darkness of the Treasure House. His stare, seeing nothing, would have burned holes in the gold-scattered obsidian floor in a more pliant universe, his blurred and distorted reflection staring back at him just as intensely.

He could almost hear her voice, as sweet and soft as the chime of a little bell.

_‘Do you know what tulpas are?’_

This Treasure House was, he granted, a perfect imitation of the one he was used to back in San Lorenzo. He never really understood the way her magic worked, but the amount of detail she’d invested into this place nevertheless astonished him. From the wrinkles that lined the corners of the Great Mage’s statue’s eyes, to the golden hills of treasure rising in swollen waves from the ground, to the polish with which the floor gleamed, to the intricate patterns creeping across the high, vaulted ceiling, designs twisting up the columns like the vines of a liana--everything seemed to shift and evolve into ever increasing complexity every time he returned to examine it. He had asked her about it once; she answered she didn’t know how it happened, it just did. The constantly-shifting patterns engraved in this place were a reflection of her emotions, and once again he found himself wondering how she was… feeling, at the moment.

Was she as anxious as he was? As fraught and frightened? Was she just as tortured as he was at the prospect of…the tomorrow?

 _‘Sino explained it to me like this_. _We’re thoughtforms. Imaginary beings brought to existence by their creator._ _T_ _ulpas_ _we_ _re_ _originally_ _meant to be their creator’s imaginary friend._ _Or_ _their conscience_ _. Or_ _their…well,_ _guardian angel. Tulpas draw their every breath from their creator’s life force, which is why we inherit some of Sino’s abilities too, like…I inherited his ability to create a separate dimension for myself. Along with some other things. I’ll get to that later.’_

A year had passed since the end of the world. Puss had to be banished from San Lorenzo in order to protect it, which was something he _would_ have seen coming from a thousand miles away if he hadn’t been such a swaggering half-wit with delusions of grandeur.

He’d been such a fool. 

He knew this now. As it was, he had fancied himself as some sort of defender, a sort of _messiah_ come to save San Lorenzo from all forces of malice, when in truth he was nothing but a passer-by with a mighty ego and an even mightier saviour complex and an _even_ mightier penchant for trouble.

He had just been a lonely, homeless nomad seeking shelter when he was found by the town he had later reluctantly began calling home, and he’d overstayed his welcome, been utterly pretentious by even _daring_ to call it home. When Sino declared that he had to be exiled, he had no complaints.

He had no right to even have one.

 _‘Although we take after our creator,_ _we_ _tulpas branch off and develop a personality of their own. That’s what makes them…us, independent. I know that’s true, because I feel that my thoughts_ are _me. At least_ _…_ _I like to think they are._ _I hope they are._ _Sino assured me they are.’_

Puss never did like the sound of that. The way she talked about herself like she was separate from the rest of the world, separate from the rest of everything that was mortal, (separate from _him_ ); the way she talked about _her_ kind as if someone like _her_ can be easily mass-produced like dolls in a factory, as if she was replaceable, as if she was expendable, as if she was cheap, when she is absolutely _nothing of the sort…_ it ignited in him a quiet fury.

 _‘_ _Maybe that’s what Sino meant when he said I could create my own destiny_ _.’_ Puss continued anxiously playing with the folded parchment in between his fingers. ‘ _That I can do whatever I wished, because I am just as free as everyone else to be whatever I wanted to be. And you know what I told him?_

 _‘I_ _wish_ _ed_ _to him_ _that I_ _was_ _yours._

_‘And he said no.’_

Dulcinea had made a wish, a wish Sino graciously granted despite being owed her existence. She wished that she be his. His tulpa, his guide, his protector. _His_. That she keep the memories that forged the bond they’d together created in the small time they were allowed, that she be by his side for the rest of their days, that she leave Sino for good and be with the one she loved instead. After all, he said that she was free to carve her own destiny.

And of course, that _was_ true. She _was_ free.

At least…just as free as everyone else.

(Which was not much to begin with.)

 _‘Well, he did say yes. That’s why we can even do this thing we’re doing…you coming into my realm every time you sleep, and us…just being with each other. It’s all possible only because he allowed us this, and I’m really, very really grateful for that, but…Puss, I…I can’t help…_ resenting _him._

 _‘This is who I am, he said. My purpose. That I guide. I protect. I now know how it feels like, being you. Because from the moment I realized that, I wanted nothing more than to be_ your _protector. I’m a tulpa, after all. This is what I was made for. To protect you._

(And, just like everyone else, even she was bound by her own origins.)

 _‘But I’m_ Sino’s _tulpa. No matter how hard I wish it, it will never change, because it is who I am._

_‘I begged him, Puss. But he cannot allow it. For as long as he lives, I could only be either immortal or dead. I can never be mortal with you. The only way we could ever be together is through our dreams…’_

Of course, Dulcinea could still be with Puss, could still guide him and protect him and whisper things he’d only be able to hear in the total silence of the night...except that he will never see her. A distance existed between them that could never be closed, a rift that extended past multiple planes of existence itself--the odds were zero; it was logistically impossible. They could never hold each other, touch each other. The only place they could ever be with each other was in the small pocket dimension Dulcinea had conjured, a dimension that imitated the Treasure House that both were familiar with, with all its faintly glowing magic and faded colours of gold, indeed not unlike a scene plucked out of a dream. The Realm of Dreams, she ended up calling it, and the only time they could ever meet or touch or kiss was if Puss slipped into the depths of sleep and willed his mind to take him to the dimension Dulcinea now resided in. It worked for the first few days. The first few weeks. Being with Dulcinea, even in his dreams, alleviated his grief, healed his solitude, eased the days he had to spend in the strange outdoors that he’d once been familiar with as home. Dulcinea was there with him, and that made life enough. Though not physically, he _knew_ she _was_ there, and that _was_ enough; it was _more_ than enough. He was okay, he was coping, he was whole and happy and hale.

Until the day he wasn’t.

As their encounters in the Realm of Dreams continued, he’d started to grieve the fact that he only met her in his dreams, questioning the cruelty behind why he could never see her in person. Then he’d started to doubt his own state of mind, which was why he’d started taking on increasingly dangerous risks to intentionally drug his senses blind. He claimed that it was the only way to keep himself from falling into the grief of her absence during the day, and then from questioning if his dreams were even _real_ in the first place, rather than just fantasies that his grieving mind conjured.

_‘Puss...I get sick every time I think of how I have to…to selfishly trap you in my dream world just so I could be with you._

_‘I should be letting you go, so you could live your life for_ real _.’_

No. No. He didn’t want that.

Dulcinea had confronted him about it, give or take a couple of months ago, telling him upfront that if he kept this rapid spiral downward…the relationship they kept was something that could never last. And then she’d started spouting some nonsense like she should be letting him go, letting him move on; that she shouldn’t be keeping him on a leash, or a cage, because she had no right to bind him to her when she couldn’t even be by his side.

It was a conversation that led to a lot of passionate yelling. _I have to let you go_ , Dulcinea had said with angry tears brimming in her eyes. _I can’t keep seeing you destroy yourself like this. I’m holding you back from moving on. You have to forget me. You_ have _to move on._

Puss had just as easily spat that he cannot. He cannot. Without her, he cannot.

He _cannot possibly_.

He’d said that he was completely fine with the arrangement they currently had, that it was so much more than they could ever ask for, that he was grateful and content to live with her like this for the rest of his life.

…It had been at that point of the conversation when Dulcinea’s tears finally fell, though.

Likely because she saw right through his lies about being fine when he _just wasn’t_ , when everything about this was clearly killing him, slowly and deliberately, corroding him bit by bit and eating him from the inside out until he was full of holes, brittle and fragile and vulnerable.

So Dulcinea made her decision right then and there.

She said that she would close the Realm of Dreams from him forever.

Wanting to part in better terms, she said that the next time he visited would be the last time they ever saw of each other, and _then_ she would cut him off, relieving him of the leash she’d tied on him herself, believing that was the only way he’d be able to move on. And then she had left after all that was said and done, leaving him standing stunned in the middle of her small Realm, the Sino statue bearing ominously down on him from behind.

Naturally, he didn’t want their next meeting to be their last. So although he ached to see her again, to kiss and touch and hold her in his arms once more, he pushed the dates back with relentless desperation, extending the security of being able to see her again for as long as he could, because he was not sure if he could live through the black days to come where he could never expect to ever see her again.

Until, months of silence and avoidance later, a letter, the same letter on the crumpled parchment he held now, turned up for him in the middle of nowhere.

 _‘I’m sorry,’_ the letter said.

‘ _I’m sorry that it had to be this way. I thought Sino was being cruel when he didn’t want us to be together, but he said that my life is bound to him. That as long as he lives, I live. Since Sino is immortal, I am immortal too. It’s not a matter of me creating my destiny, it’s a matter of what I am. I am a daughter of Sino, I live for thousands of years, I’m a tulpa--something destiny forced upon me, something I have no choice over. He said that an immortal-mortal relationship is a relationship that would end with both sides keeling in pain, and I was a naive fool not to realize the wisdom behind that sooner. He was just…trying to protect me, to protect us, from that pain._

_‘I didn’t understand at first, but when I saw you suffering because of this… now I do._

_‘In order to protect you, I should stay away.’_

His fingers curled angrily around the folded parchment, crumpling it.

 _‘I just wish that you’d give me one last chance to save you. To see you. To assure you that no matter what happens, you_ will _be in my heart, and whatever happiness you find through another is my happiness as well._

_‘This, I swear, for as long as I live--’_

Puss looked up when he heard the sound of heels tapping against the floor to see Dulcinea approaching him, pain written on the smile she managed to summon on her beautiful face, lonely queen as she was of this tiny realm. He swallowed thickly before straightening up to slide down from the gentle slope of his golden hill, the coins making a high chinking sounds upon being disturbed, landing smoothly on his boots before he himself made his approach. She’d long disposed of the tulpa armour Sino’s spell had bestowed on her, preferring the simple dress with the soft lavender skirt always swaying silkenly along her legs, like in this moment as she sprinted the last few steps before leaping up at him to engulf him in a warm and tight embrace.

None of them spoke for a solid length of time that might have been hours for all Puss cared. He’d ached for and dreaded against this very moment for months, although now, _now_ , at least, all anxiety was purged. Contentment filled his empty heart, and he wished so achingly that they could forever be like this (why can’t they? why can’t they?), in the warmth of each other’s arms. He buried his head in her shoulder and shakily inhaled her soothing floral scent, etching each second of that simple experience into memory for his to keep forever.

He didn’t want to let go, but she was the first to pull away with a shaky exhalation of her own.

“Well,” she said, suddenly perky now that they were apart, and it wasn’t lost on Puss how obviously it was that she’s forcing herself to sound light-hearted as her eyes briefly flashed towards the parchment he still had clasped within his fingers. She shifted. “Well _._ I see you received my letter. Glad you made it here. I’ve been waiting for you for…” She shrugged, directing her gaze to the floor, away from his stare.

“For months.”

He self-consciously slipped the crumpled parchment into the small compartment inside the hat on his head, drawing out his own sigh. A lot of words, a thousand strings of conversation, hung unspoken in the silence between them. He himself chose not to speak for a long time, directing his gaze to the floor before slowly dragging it up to let it graze over her body, until, hesitantly, finally, they met each other’s eyes. They held each other there by nothing but their gaze, and he knew, that when she simply let the expression on her face be as open and vulnerable as it always had been, that at that moment, not a lot of words really needed to be spoken.

Nonetheless.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I thought you would never come,” she lightly teased.

He pointedly did not fall for the bait.

“I did not think I wanted to,” he said, words crisp with honesty.

Dulcinea faltered at that, and for a second she looked compelled to turn away, but she was quick to evenly school her features back. She stood her ground, levelled him with her own stare.

Keeping her tone neutral, she said, “I wish…” Then dismissed the word off as if it was a nuisance.

“I want _,”_ ( _want_ , like a demand, an order, a requirement, a _need_ ,) “our last night to be special _._ ”

Spoken firmly. Decisively. Puss could tell she’d been pining to say those very words in the long time that they were apart, that she was just as anxious as he was for the last embrace, the last kiss, the last dance, before they never saw each other again. It was a little comfort that at least…he was not alone in his anxiety.

“Please,” she said. “That argument is done, and there’s nothing--”

Her voice caught.

“ _Nothing_ ,” (steadier now.) “you can do to change my mind. I don’t want to go through that again, not now. Right now, Puss…I just want you.”

A sheen of moist made the green in his eyes glitter, and inwardly he cursed, he _cursed_ , because as much as he wanted to argue that there really _was_ no need for this, no _need_ for them to have to cut each other off of each other’s lives, he knew there was no force in the universe that could stop Dulcinea, oh, strong-willed Dulcinea, from doing what she thought she had to do, especially if it was to protect him. He couldn’t help but feel an aching fondness that made his heart throb, and Puss reached out to softly trace the back of his fingers against the side of her face, and she closed her eyes in contentment, leaning against his feather touch, reaching up with a paw herself to press his against her cheek. When she opened her eyes, he was merely inches away.

“As do I,” he finally replied, then angled his head to catch her half-open lips with his own. They brushed and nipped, a slow yet dizzying dance of kisses that even Puss, romance extraordinaire that he fancied himself to be, had to desperately clamber to maintain his footing in the whirlwind he found himself ensanred in; but Dulcinea held him fast, winding their fingers together as she confidently guided him gently along, the music of their hearts thudding lowly with the soft and sweet rhythm of a ballroom waltz, their chests heaving as their breaths tangled during the short moment they broke apart for air before they dove in for another taste.

After that, Dulcinea was once again the first to break apart, and, looking startled and agape like a fish plucked from underwater, she wrangled her arms out of his hold and hastily made a march for the doors without another word.

“ _Dulcinea--_ ” Puss, breathless, could only gasp her name once she fled from his arms, too quickly, too _soon_ , suddenly lost and completely bewildered that she would so easily pull away and walk away and never so much as even _look back_ \--

He stared at her dumfoundedly as she marched the long distance to the Treasure House’s doors. He was paralyzed; his mind was ablaze with gibberish he fervently _prayed_ weren’t true. Was she leaving already, closing the Realm of Dreams from him for eternity? Was that it, was that _really_ the last of it? Will they never see each other again? He wondered if he’d done something wrong. Maybe she didn’t want any more attachment now that they were breaking up, perhaps she saw that being with him any more second was a mistake. It hurt when he realized that he would never blame her for that, hurt more when he realized he _wanted_ to blame her for that, because their relationship, whatever they had--it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough.

He’d been lying to himself, this _wasn’t_ _enough_ , it shouldn’t _ever_ be enough, because they’d always been meant to _be something more._

He stumbled over his feet and then stumbled over the crowd of anguished words that bubbled up his blocked throat.

 _Wait._

_Wait._

_Don’t go._

_Dulcinea, I love you._

Oh, God. Tears welled in his eyes.

_I love you._

He’d never meant those three words _so much_ as much as he meant them now.

 _Don’t leave me._

Please--

_“Dulcinea--”_

Finally, she stopped marching.

She stood, right before the gates that would lead her out of the Treasure House.

Puss stood, right where he was, completely astonished that their last evening together should end so quickly.

He’d only been about to march over there and beg her to stay for one, just _one_ moment more, when--

The door latch sounded.

He was confused by the clicking noise for a moment. But, when she wordlessly turned back around to face him, the realization dawned numbly upon him…

She had locked the doors.

Dulcinea leaned with her back straight against the flat partition behind her, the palms of her paws apprehensively laid levelly against it as well. The expression on her face was one of timidity and reservation, but the locked set of her jaw one of resolute decision.

The words were clear enough unspoken.

_I don’t want Sino or any of my sisters barging in on us._

Puss stilled in shock. His mind whirled anew. He then resolved to cast all doubt aside--of course, he thought, _of course not_ , this wasn’t over yet, not yet, not _now_ , and then he paced to cross that distance between them that moments ago to him seemed _unfathomable_ , the echoing tap of his soles against the obsidian floor sounding increasingly too much like the low thudding beat behind a piece of music rising and rising in speed and volume before finally crashing into the heart of a symphony--their lips collided with force, and he pressed himself flush against her so her back was to the door; Dulcinea was quick to wrap one arm around his neck to reel him in deeper, making no hesitations in her demands for something thicker, something richer, something darker and heavier than mere _soft_ and _sweet_ and _gentle,_ (now they engulfed each other with wanton and aggressive desire, hot, gasping mouths crashing upon each other like storm-swept waves smashing against a rocky shore). They were _past_ sweet and gentle, at least they _should_ be, because fate never gave them the time nor the chance to be what they _could have_ become, what they were _supposed_ to become; so tonight, in wordless agreement, they determined to seize the chance to hail a rebellion against the unfair hand the fates dealt them with, striking back by shattering any rule or convention that dared stand in the way of them seizing what was rightfully _theirs_.

Mortal. Immortal.

In that moment, _it didn’t matter_.

The hat was the first to go; it stubbornly stood in the way of Dulcinea running her clawing fingers on the back of his head, the ginger fur there immediately standing rigid on their ends once the cool splash of air hit the feverish skin underneath. The dress went next, its tight bondage loosening on her body with the silken whisper of thread sliding against thread as he pulled on the string crisscrossing her front after she breathlessly guided him how, the sleeves on her shoulders sliding delicately down the white fur shimmering on her bare arms as smoothly as a sheet of freshly woven silk would brush against another. As soon as it piled soundlessly on the polished marble floor, she impatiently swept it out of her way with a boot and again pulled herself flush against Puss, biting down on his lip to which he could only respond with a startled, strangled yelp of surprise.

She capitalized on that by determinedly pushing her weight against him, forcing him to take scrambled steps back, back, back until he regained himself to reassert his control, not letting her win their sudden tango of dominance and pushed her until he slammed her flat against the inclining slope of a tall hill of golden treasures, the impact causing a noisy disturbance of glimmering coins spilling down the slope.

His fingers entangled with hers, he held her paw hostage beside her head while the other slipped down the gentle inward curve of her back. He trailed soft kisses down her pulsating throat as she tilted her head to the side with a breathy exhale to give him freer access. When she cried out a grating feline mew in a desperate, aching hunger for _more_ than those tantalizingly (intentionally) _featherlight_ kisses, his mouth curved into a small smirk against her shoulder, the way her thighs twitched and twisted tightly together not leaving his notice before he ultimately devolved into the starved, ravenous nips and licks that she’d so demanded, his rough tongue lapping possessively onto the sweet and salty taste of her milky fur; it was only the moment he’d considered her completely, _thoroughly_ marked as unquestioningly his when he moved back up to place his mouth over hers to drink in her ambrosial moans. He could feel her wet arousal on his fur from hers--that she built on her desire for him so quickly only aggravated the state of his own manhood, sticking out from his groin and feeling it poke her belly as he pressed his body against hers. He tried to stifle his own groan only to fail; the feline noise that ended up escaping his mouth was deep and rough and throaty, and he was certain even she felt the ringing vibrations of his fiery desire through her body.

Unable to help himself any further, he finally let his paws wander, wander _down;_ Dulcinea herself settled for resting her head on his shoulder, keeping herself upright by planting her paws on his shoulders, her eyes closed, her breaths rapid and shallow. However, once his wandering paw reached her soft, fleshy folds, her arousal staining his fingers wet, and found the nub of her sweet spot at once, he was immediately rewarded by the heavenly, bell-like sound of Dulcinea trying--and failing--to restrain her high-pitched squeal of pleasure, her paws gripping his shoulder tighter, her breaths coming on more quickly, the warm air gusting in rapid succession through the fur on his chest. Her pleasure was his own, her short-winded moans for _his name_ a glorious _music_ to his ears, the wetness sticking to his paw a dollop of pure nectar, and he strove to continue pleasing her by keeping his strokes consistent, gently guiding her to the floor as did it because he could feel from her grip on his shoulder trembling madly, obviously a growing struggle for her to maintain upright when all her body wanted to do was give out and shatter to the pressure of her desire.

Once flat against the gold-scattered, glassy lake that was the obsidian floor, the intricate patterns on around them shifting fast and unpredictably, Puss pressed his mouth against hers once again as he continued to pleasure her, endeavouring to taste and savour her each gasp and each moan, her each panting plea for his name; it was a sensation not unlike drowning, drowning in the depths of their intermingled passion where the only thing keeping them afloat was each other and the smallest slip would lead to the unfulfilled ocean of their want choking them for good--

Her back arched against the cold obsidian with a cry, simultaneously sending a single pulse of light ripple throughout the chamber from where she lay gasping under him. She was tempted to ask for more, she was _not there yet_ , but Puss had pointedly removed his paw from her delta which left her wanting and discontent; briefly he wiped his hand against his side before he made a move to caress the side of her face with it, to which Dulcinea, still feverishly quivering in the aftermath of her near-orgasm, could only tiredly lean against him in her search for the warmth of his touch.

“ _Puss…_ that was…”

He smiled down at her, felt something soft in him tug at the tender sound of her uttering his name in nothing but raw exhaustion. “I know.”

She moved her head to lightly peck on his mouth with another kiss. Puss obliged all too gladly, deepening it in his own unsatisfied longing for more of her. She reached for the paw he had resting on her cheek, removing it from there so she could then securely hook each of her digits into their respective spaces between his five ones, and they curled into each other, snugly, perfectly, fitting together as if they’ve always been made to _be_.

Dulcinea shifted, urging him gently to move over, and he could only follow her lead as they exchanged places until she was atop him, straddling him. They only parted in for air; the entire time their mouths were connected, their tongues entangled in a dance.

Puss parted from her, himself panting for breath as his eyelids fluttered open so he could cast a downward glance at their interlaced fingers. He then lifted their laced paws into the air until their arms levelled with their shoulders, his gaze deferential and reverent, never leaving the sight of lily-white and ginger fur weaved together, the colours, _their_ colours, alternating, until somewhere in between, the lines blurred and he realized with startling clarity that he could _never_ imagine them _ever being apart_ \--and then his heart was gripped by fear. It was a fear so acute it squeezed his heart like a fist squeezing the life out of a dying bird; he wanted nothing to do with a future that didn’t have _her_ in it, nothing, nothing, _nothing--_

“Dulcinea,” he choked her name out as a sob. “Dulcinea.”

“ _Puss_ ,” Dulcinea said, and his grip on her other wrist weakened. That was when she resolved to free one of her paws and urgently, affectionately touch it to the side of his face, her voice pouring with so much warmth as she _pled_ him to calm his surge of terror. “No, no, no, no, _no_ , don’t, I’m here _, shh_ , I’m right here,” and he didn’t even realize he’d been _crying_ until she brushed her fingers against his wet cheeks. “I’m here _,_ see for yourself, look at me, _look_ at me,” and he obliged, only to be stricken that her own eyes welled with such tears that he couldn’t bring himself to doubt for a moment that they _had_ to be drops of pure, concentrated sorrow.

“Does it have to be like this?” he whispered hoarsely, wishing in futile ache that this warmth that she laid upon his cheek, upon his heart, would last forever.

But she didn’t answer. For a long moment, she only quietly ran her fingers on the fur of his cheek, stroking him gently and gingerly taking her time to feel him.

“...I’m so sorry, Puss,” she said, eventually. Her smile, when it broke through her face, was a broken shard of light, bitter and sad and it hurt him to see her strain to look brave. “You know it has to be. I can never even be with you during the day…” A single tear fell from her eye and landed on his cheek to darken the fur. A shaky, deprecating laugh shook her shoulders. “And right now, you’re not even sure whether this is even real.”

“Dulcinea…” What she said was true, and he knew there was little point to try denying her when she was a literal being with perception next to a god. But he cannot…how can she even _think_ …

“You suffer because of this,” she said. “San Lorenzo is gone. Everyone is gone. You have no proof in the real world that this isn’t just your imagination. You’re beginning to think you’re delusional, because no one would believe you when you tell them about the girl named Dulcinea.” She laughed again, the sound effectively masking her sob. “They tell you you’re only fantasizing, and you can’t help but wonder if what they say is true. If you’re only making me up. That’s no way for you to live, Puss. It hurts, watching you. I’m holding you back from you fully living your life.”

Puss retaliated. “You are _not_ holding me back, Dulcinea--”

“Sh,” she said, and he inhaled a shock of breath as he felt her--as he felt _her_ grasp his--

Her gaze did not leave his face. “Not now.”

She slowly slid that paw back up his chest, taking her time in touching him, feeling him, experiencing every inch of him, and he felt his entire being coil in like a spring, desperate for release, for her to…to…

“I know it’s difficult…”

Her paw moved. Further, further _down-_ -

He inhaled a gasp.

“...but tonight we just dance,” she said.

He snapped his eyes shut, dizzily desperate to keep himself from tipping over like glass and spilling his wits to the floor, driven haywire as they were. His madly tingling senses coiled further and further inward, the tense, building pleasure so tightly compressed that it _hurt_ \--every bit of it radiating out of his core, his stiff, sharp-edged manhood completely, delicately wombed inside the soft flesh of her warm paw.

Emboldened by his erection and pleased by the gratified groans he was too blindly intoxicated to be aware of emitting, she moved so quickly that before he knew it she’d already switched their places. His back hit the slope of their little hill and sent more golden coins trickling down the floor, and then she’s in front of him, duly caging him in place--intense blue eyes never leaving his crumbling face and one paw decidedly staying where it enveloped him from below. Then when her fingers started to move up and down his length, first slowly, slowly then _faster_ , he knew he would have collapsed to the floor if it wasn’t for the slope barely keeping him upright; and the curiosity with which she observed thousands of pleased, gasping expressions flash across his face was almost childlike as she continued her ministrations, childlike if it _wasn’t for the fact that he was completely under the sway of her dominating command--_

“ _How_ ,” he blurted out in between gasps, how did she know _how_ , because this was _Dulcinea_ and he’s completely taken aback that she-- _she_ was--doing _this_ and, and not that it’s bad, on the contrary it’s _exhilarating_ and he’s blown out of his mind because he never-- _never_ in his wildest dreams, because _yes_ he’d dreamed of this--expected that he’d ever be the one _writhing_ beneath her--she, _Dulcinea_ , who’d been _sheltered_ her entire life. She opened her mouth, to respond, but--

“Stop,” he said abruptly, not giving her the space to speak. “Dulcinea, that’s enough or--or I--I will get there too soon.”

“Oh--oh.” He could see her flush with embarrassment, and Puss was overcome by the desire to reassure her that no, _no_ , she did nothing wrong. “Of--of course. Did I…do it right?”

He smiled at her to quell her insecurity, and in the same way Dulcinea had been drenched with exhaustion earlier, he managed to pant out, “I…I could not imagine… _how_ you even…”

He let that sentence trail off. He suspected greatly that the both of them very well knew what he meant.

“Oh--oh. Oh. Um….” He’s right; he didn’t need to speak the whole question for her to understand what he was trying to gurgle out of his throat. Looking suddenly like she wanted to hide in embarrassment, she could only manage to choke out a name. “Señora Zapata.”

That was answer to nothing in his deliriously addled mind.

“What,” he deadpanned. He’s absolutely lost. Why would that woman’s name suddenly come up in the middle of…of this?

Dulcinea only shrugged in response, but it was a clumsy attempt to hide her flustered mien with a feigned casualness; it didn’t escape his notice how she bit her lip as if stifling a cough of disbelief, like the truth was too embarrassing to be ever spoken aloud.

“Remember…remember our first date?” she finally began, idly tracing circles onto his slow chest with an index finger. He smiled at the memory; Eames was there with his onion breath so it was a complete disaster, but since _Dulcinea_ was there, it didn’t matter. Nothing _else_ mattered. He treasured that memory.

Dulcinea continued. “She’s…er…she’s gotten it in her head that you and I are going to marry someday. So that very night, when we came home together, when all the kids are asleep, and no one could overhear, she knocked on my door…and…and explained to me, upfront…what happens on a girl’s wedding night. Or. Or bef-- _before,_ a girl’s wedding night.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she was fighting through her embarrassment and insecurity to tell him this. “Explained to me that since _you’re_ my boyfriend, I shouldn’t be shocked if you started doing…things. To me. That they’re actually, um. Not predatory. Just forms of affection.” Her voice turned into a whisper.

“And she told me how I…how I could do it back.”

She fell silent.

He fell silent.

“Ah,” he said, after a deliberate while, carefully keeping his tone neutral. “Since when have you considered me your boyfriend?”

She physically looked like she was going to implode with all the blood that must have started rushing to her cheeks. “Uh. I…since…since…” She bit her lip; she was definitely about to implode from the embarrassment. “Ever since….”

He smirked. “Ever since?”

“No!” She smacked him playfully on the chest, for which Puss couldn’t help but erupt in laughter. She joined him in his short burst of mirth, but not without another affectionate shove to his shoulder.

“No?” Puss prompted, wiggling his eyebrows up at her with a suggestive twinkle in his eye. “Then…what are we?”

“I…I don’t know.” She hid her expression by pressing her face onto his shoulder, and he could feel her bell-like voice vibrate through his core as she spoke. “Does it…matter?”

“Dulcinea…” He had never spoken a truth that was truer than this. “The only thing matters to me is that we are lovers.”

He felt her smile against his shoulder. “Same here.”

Then a laugh began shuddering out of his mouth, followed by an completely, utterly dazed, “Señora Zapata, lecturing you how to… Dios mio _._ I could not imagine how that must have been like for you, Dulcinea…” He moved to press a kiss her on the forehead. “I apologize on her behalf.”

Chuckling at their shared embarrassment and incredibly reassured by his sweet kiss, Dulcinea felt her insecurity melt away. “Don’t,” she assured him right back, the smile on her face growing. She now lay her head down on his chest to make herself comfortable, and lay a hand over his heart to feel it pulsing through her own body. “It was a good thing she did that. This is nice…that I know how to…well…how to please you.”

A chuckle rumbled from deep in Puss’ throat, and he moved a paw to caress her, feeling the curve of her back.

“Indeed.”

“...Puss?”

“Hmm?”

Dulcinea spoke nothing. Her eyes, however, as they flitted up to gaze deeply into his, were heavy with meaning, heavy with a silent roaring desire. Her paw found his and she interlaced their fingers together, and no more words needed to be spoken.

“Are you…certain?” he asked, concern etched onto his features.

She took it the wrong way however, when insecurity suddenly flashed across her face at his hesitance.

“You don’t…want to?”

“No!” he blurted, because that was _the_ most ridiculous thing that he could ever hear in his lifetime. _Dulcinea, I want nothing more than for us to be one._

Dulcinea faltered. “Then…then why are you…”

“…I hesitate,” he said, firmly, “only because I fear I will hurt you, amor.”

“But I can take it,” she whispered confidently. “I trust you.”

The admission took him by surprise, though quickly even that morphed to delight. “…You do?” he asked. Of course he knew she did, that she trusted him just as much as he did her…but it was always affirming to hear her say it aloud. For her to actually say…

“I do,” she said, firmly. “I trust you will never do anything to hurt me…”

She moved her legs so she was straddling him spread-eagled, and she leaned down on him in an attempt to pointedly press her torso against his so he could feel the way his still-growing protrusion hard against her belly, the way her She planted a kiss on the edge of his lips, teasing and baiting him to get more from whence it came.

“...and that you’ll only hurt me in ways I want,” she whispered on his ear.

And that was all the urging he needed.

“As you wish,” he said, his voice low, his desire reignited; and it was from then on that slowly, ( _passionately_ ), gently, ( _fiercely_ ), the night before them unfurled its splendor, her shrieks of pain permeating, his comforting hold firm and gentle, their cry for each other’s name desperate, as if the moment they let go would be the moment this all disappears to fantasy.

That moment came when they both did.

“...You have to forget me,” Dulcinea said, and Puss, exhausted and in the midst of the whirlwind of desire he was ensnared in, wasn’t sure if he heard her right--what was she saying, why was she saying it all of a _sudden_ , he didn’t know how to feel nor how to grasp the reality that she’s saying this now, _now?_ But the world around them had begun to disintegrate without his notice, the obsidian floor cracking, the ceiling and columns and the hills of gold and the Sino statue crumbling into dust to reveal the empty black universe that represented what Dulcinea was feeling by having to do this, to do what she had, to make him _let her go_ \--

“Never,” he growled, squeezing her paw in his. _“Never.”_

“I know,” she said, and she’s openly sobbing now, and panic grips Puss hard--because what was she talking about, what was she about to _do--_

“That’s why I won’t make you choose.”

She firmly held the sides of his head, bent it down so she could plant a kiss on his forehead.

_“I love you.”_

…And just like that, Puss’ eyes snapped open. 

* * *

He shot up from the pillow he’d made of the column of bricks behind him. His fur shot up in wild angles. He’s wide-eyed and bewildered. Morning was not far off--there’s a radiant, golden light burning the horizons of this random city he’d found himself wandering into some nights ago after a brawl with the bandits on the crossroads that led to this town’s market. There’s someone who shifted beside him, and for a moment his wildly beating heart calmed down upon the realization that she’s here. She’s _here_ , her fur as white as an angel’s wings and her eyes, opening blearily against the sun’s faint glare and crinkling the soft ruffle of fur around them when she smiled upon meeting his green gaze, _she’s here_ \--

She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t have an answer. He opened his mouth to speak but the words jammed stuck in his throat, suddenly making it a struggle to breathe.

“Amara,” was the only thing he managed eventually.

Her pretty face crumpled in slight distaste at that, and the pause preceding her cold snarl was an icicle meant to stab.

“Hernanda,” she snapped.

“Hernanda,” he echoed hollowly. His mind was already miles away from forgetting the name that meant nothing more to him than the dust lightly caking the wrinkled leather of his boots. After seizing said boots from the side, securing the soled leather on his feet, he buckled his belt, then grabbed his sword, then snatched his hat, after which he launched himself off the rooftop without breathing a single word, leaving Hernanda’s startled “Oy, where do you think you’re going?!” in the wake of his flee.

 _Sorry I keep getting your name wrong_ , he whispered to no one in particular, but some days when he spoke to the wind, he thought he could almost hear someone reply.

Like right now.

The wind caressed him like a lover would caress one’s cheek, and then--

Then a reply.

 _It’s for the best, you dumdum._

_I love you._

* * *

(“I love you, too,” were the words he slurred to the beautiful, snow-furred and sapphire-eyed angel who’d easily, _effortlessly_ seduced him one night roughly half a year later. She didn’t even have to slip a packet down his shot of leche.

Her name was Rosa.)

* * *

  
_All because of you, I believe in angels.  
_ _Not the kind with wings, no,  
_ _not the kind with halos;  
_ _but the kind that bring you home when home becomes a strange place.  
_ _I’ll follow your voice.  
_ _All you have to do is shout it out._

* * *

_‘This, I swear, for as long as I live._

_'_ _I love you.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Three notes. 
> 
> Rosa is the name of the cat Puss had slept with in the first scene of the 2011 movie, the one he mistook for ‘Margarita’; title is lifted from the song The Good Left Undone by Rise Against; and squinting too much at the plot is not recommended. It only made my head hurt. 
> 
> Cheers, and thank you for reading.


End file.
